White Lies and Violets
by digitalfletch
Summary: A crisis draws Cal and Gillian closer…
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Gillian Foster was standing in the video analysis room with a half dozen Lightman Group associates when the door behind them banged open with a thump. Cal Lightman, founder and head of the deception detection agency that bore his name, strode in like a man on a mission.

Work halted as all eyes turned expectantly towards their leader.

He stopped abruptly in the center of the room and stared around at the scattered banks of monitors, each of which showed video footage from one of the cases on which the Group was working.

Then he gestured towards the image on one of the larger monitors that was being analyzed by a fair-haired young woman and an older Indian man.

"What the hell is this?" he demanded peremptorily. "Why're you looking at him? She's the one you want." He pointed at a figure near the periphery of the screen, and then turned on the young woman sitting at the workstation. "How can you be so bloody stupid?"

The girl, whom Gillian recognized as one of the summer interns from Georgetown University, turned red and looked as though she was about to burst into tears.

"And you!" Lightman shouted at the man standing beside her. "You call yourself a detection expert. What the hell do you think you're teaching her? Torres could do a better job than you, and she's only been here six months!"

Gillian stared at Cal in astonishment. She'd just gotten back from a three week assignment in London, and while she was there Loker had emailed her that his boss had been acting strangely –more strangely than usual – but this was the first time she'd seen it for herself.

His hard gaze swept across the speechless group. "I don't know what the hell I'm paying you all for. I really don't."

Then he suddenly cocked his head and sniffed the air. "Anybody smell violets?"

He waited a few seconds for a reply and then, when no one shook themselves out of their stunned silence, abruptly turned and stalked out the door.

----

Gillian stared across at Torres, shocked. "What was that about?"

Ria gave a sharp shrug. "Search me," she replied, almost bristling with irritation. "He's been like that all month. Bursting in, berating everyone, and then just walking out. It's…weird."

Loker nodded. "Definitely weird. And that thing with the violets. He's mentioned that a couple of times."

Torres went on, "At first we thought he was just testing us. You know, some kind of a memory retention exercise of events that take place during a trauma. But not like this, not day after day. It's gone way beyond that now."

Foster frowned. Cal had a certain volatility about him, and a casual arrogance that could be breathtaking at times, but this aggressive, attacking behavior was something she'd never seen before. Something was definitely off. "Has anyone talked to him about it?"

They shook their heads in unison. "We were hoping you'd do it," Loker told her with his customary honesty. "You're the only one of us who's likely to come back alive."

----

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Foster walked down the hall towards Lightman's office. This was not a conversation that she was looking forward to, but it was one that she couldn't put off, either. They had to get whatever was bothering him out into the open before it poisoned the atmosphere of the entire workplace.

She entered the room without knocking, as was their habit. He was standing at his desk, his coat still on, riffling through one of the drawers. "Cal."

He looked up. "Hey," he greeted, his face lighting. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. "Welcome back."

"Thanks." She studied him covertly, knowing he was fully aware of what she was doing. His expression was guarded as usual, yet she could detect a tiny muscle jumping in his cheek, a miniscule furrow of his brow. Signs of tiredness and strain. Something was worrying him. But there was no evidence of the anger or frustration she had witnessed back in the AV room.

"What's up?" he asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," she replied, making her vocal tone and body posture as calm and nonjudgmental as she possibly could.

"What'd you mean?" he replied. Evasion.

She frowned. Apparently he wasn't going to make this easy for her. "That scene in the AV room – that wasn't like you," she said quietly, holding his eyes with her own.

"Who was it like?"

Now misdirection. It was very uncharacteristic of him. He might play mind games with Torres, trying to teach his protégé the subtleties of detecting deception, but with Gillian herself he was never less than honest. There was a bond of trust between them that was stronger than anything else in her life. _Including my marr_ – she cut that train of thought off ruthlessly.

"Cal, please – I need to know what's going on with you."

Immediately he was shaking his head, his pose defensive, almost hostile. "We have rules about this – for a very good reason," he snapped.

She clenched her hands, trying to keep her voice level. "Yes, we have rules. But not about this. This isn't about your personal life, Cal. You know I don't pry into that. But your behavior is starting to affect our work, to affect the whole office –"

A voice from the doorway interrupted her. A familiar voice. Zoë's voice. "Sorry I'm late, the traffic out there's crazy today. We're –"

She stepped slowly into the room, her eyes flickering uneasily between them.

Gillian turned to face Cal's ex-wife, by habit swiftly masking any outward sign of the distaste she felt for the woman. "Zoë," she acknowledged, keeping her voice polite. Even after all this time she was still finding the hell the woman had put Cal through during their divorce hard to forgive. But it had become obvious over the last few months that Zoë and Cal were starting to grow closer again, and so for his sake she would at least be civil.

"Gillian," Zoë replied, then shifted her gaze to Cal. "Sorry to barge in, but we need to get going." She jerked her head towards the lobby. "We're already late."

Cal dropped his eyes from Gillian's. "Gotta go," he said tersely and snapped the desk drawer shut.

"Cal –" Gillian protested. This was important. She didn't ask a lot of him, and according to Ria Torres probably put up with far too much. But not this time. Whatever he and Zoë were up to, it could wait.

Cal came around the desk and halted as he reached her side, laying a gentle hand on her arm. "I'll talk to you later, ok?"

Without waiting for an answer he swept past Zoë and headed out the door, leaving Gillian to stare at the empty space he had left behind.

----

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Gillian knew Cal would be as good as his word. When he said he would talk to her later, he meant just what. But when she stopped by his office that evening, hoping the relative quiet would be more conducive to conversation, it was empty.

It was empty the next morning, too, which wasn't unusual. He was often out on cases at all hours of the day and night. But it was unusual that he hadn't called to check in and let her know where he was.

A knot of worry was beginning to form in the pit of her stomach. Was there something going on here at the office? Something he didn't want her to know about? Or maybe this was about her. Perhaps she'd unknowingly said or done something to hurt him, and now he was avoiding her? Despite how keenly she needed to know there was no way to find out until she could talk to him, so she went back to the AV room and tried to focus on her latest case.

That afternoon she passed by his office again, hoping that she would find him in his normal position hunched over his desk and lay her silly concerns to rest. But there was no sign of Cal. Instead a small figure was camped in one of the armchairs, busily texting on her phone.

Gillian pushed the door open and strode in. "Hi Emily," she greeted. "Your dad still not in?"

Emily shook her head, dropping her phone into the backpack by her feet. "No. I thought he'd be back from the hospital by now."

"He's at a hospital?" Gillian asked in surprise. "Which one?" He hadn't mentioned anything about an injury case. Although, given his erratic behavior lately, she would hardly be surprised if he had forgotten to tell her about it, or simply hadn't bothered.

Emily's brow furrowed. "St. Luke's, I think. I guess that's where they have the best MRI machine."

"MRI machine?" she repeated, confused. What would Cal need with an MRI machine?

"Yeah," Emily said. "That thing they use for scanning people's bodies," she supplied.

Gillian nodded to say that she knew what an MRI machine was.

"I thought they'd have the results by now," Emma continued. Her large brown eyes had grown wide, giving her a deer-in-the-headlights look, and her porcelain skin was even more pale than usual.

She was scared.

"What results?" Gillian demanded, her surprise and confusion turning to alarm over the signals Emily was sending. Her heart began to pound. This wasn't about a case. Something was wrong.

"Of the brain scan. Dad's brain scan."

Gillian's mouth went dry. "He's – Why is he having a brain scan?" she managed to croak.

"Didn't he tell you?" Emily's eyes darted to hers. "Oh my god, he didn't." Her high young voice dropped to a whisper. "They think he may have a…a tumor. Some sort of brain tumor."

Gillian put a hand to her stomach, feeling physically ill.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Emily was saying. "I can't believe he didn't tell you of all people."

She shook her head mutely. It was ok. But it wasn't. She found that she could barely breathe. "How –" her voice shook – "how long has he known?"

"About 48 hours," a voice behind her said.

She whirled around. Cal stood in the doorway in his long black coat, his beige shirt crumpled as if he'd been wearing it for a week. "Saw the neurologist Monday, today was the first day St. Luke's could get me in."

"Dad?" Emily said tentatively.

He paused and ran a hand through his hair. His expression was sad, resigned, and Gillian felt her body go cold with horror. "Yeah, luv. They found a tumor. A glioma in the right hemisphere, which is what's been giving me the headaches and affecting my emotion processing. Sensory processing, too. Apparently I'm not really smelling violets." He said the last in a light, detached tone, as though commenting on a change in the weather.

"Cal." Gillian's voice, strangled and harsh, sounded foreign to her own ears.

His eyes went to hers and held her gaze, obviously reading her expression, the unspoken words behind her eyes. After a short moment he moved over to the chair and put his arm around Emily. He spoke to his daughter, but his eyes didn't leave Gillian's. "Could you go wait in the lobby with your mum, sweetheart? I need to talk to Dr. Foster alone for a minute."

Emily nodded silently and picked her backpack up off the floor.

Gillian turned on him the instant they were alone. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded fiercely, angrily. She needed to hold tight to the anger – it was the only way she could keep the tears at bay.

But his guard was up and he met her gaze expressionlessly. "You were away," he said. It was an evasion and they both knew it.

"I was in London," she stressed the name, trying to keep from shouting at him. "Not Fiji, not the Kalahari Desert. They have phones there, you know."

He shot her a look that said he wasn't amused, but she wasn't trying to be funny.

Seconds ticked by as neither of them spoke. Gillian folded her arms. Cal stuck his hands in his pockets. They stared silently at one another.

He, refusing to defend his behavior. She, refusing to let him off the hook. Impass. They were too well-matched by half, she thought.

Finally she sighed and deliberately dropped her defenses a little to allow him to see a bit of her vulnerability, to remind him that she cared. "Did you really not want me to know?" she asked softly.

His brows knit and he shrugged slightly. "It wasn't that…" his voice trailed off. His hazel eyes flashed – a fleeting look of bleakness and despair, quickly masked. And suddenly she understood what she should have recognized all along.

He was afraid. Afraid of what was happening to him, afraid of what might still be to come. The prospect of a tumor causing permanent brain damage would be difficult enough for an ordinary person to face. But Cal – he was a brilliant scientist at the very top of his field, with a stellar international reputation, the FBI on retainer, working with a hand-picked team of the highest caliber. She knew that he considered what he did a calling, that he felt in seeking out the truth at all costs he was serving something higher than himself. It must have terrified him to learn that he might lose his prodigious mental capabilities – and with them everything he had trained and worked so hard for – that all of it could be taken away from him. It would be the worst fate imaginable.

Cal was afraid. Afraid that if he said it aloud to her it would become real.

Gillian closed her eyes, her anger evaporating as compassion overwhelmed her. She knew, better than anyone else, how far he had come and how much he had to lose. She drew close and rested one hand on his chest, above his heart. "It's ok, it's ok," she said soothingly, running her palm lightly over the rumpled fabric of his shirt.

Attempting to offer comfort for something that could not be comforted.

----

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

"So what are they going to do?" she asked later that evening, after the news had sunk in a little and she felt she could just about handle hearing the additional details she needed to know.

Cal shrugged. He was sitting with his feet up on the corner of his desk, toying with a pen, not looking at all like a man with a ticking time bomb in his head. "They say surgery's the best option, although I guess this kind of tumor is hard to remove without cutting into healthy tissue." His eyes lost focus as he retrieved information from his memory. "There's about a forty percent chance that they can remove it cleanly, and a fifty five percent chance of some…collateral damage."

"What about the other five percent?" she asked quietly, afraid she already knew the answer.

He only gazed at her steadily.

Gillian swallowed hard, her mind unable to even contemplate the possibility. The idea that something so dreadful might happen to him was unfathomable. Intolerable. "And what if they just leave it alone? If it doesn't get any worse…" If it didn't get any worse, just the effects he already had…they could manage. Surely they could.

His words were as hard and swift as fired bullets. "It'll get worse. It's growing fast – apparently my symptoms are being caused by the rapid swelling and pressure up here." He pointed towards his skull. "Don't you see we can't just leave it?" His voice was suddenly a shout.

Just as quickly the anger evaporated. He looked stricken. "I'm – I'm sorry, luv."

She shook her head dismissively, not willing to even acknowledge the outburst with a reply. It was the tumor talking, they both knew that.

Her heart bled for him as she watched him take a harsh breath and wet his lips, obviously foundering for control and feeling unable to trust himself. In a deliberately measured tone he added, "If they don't take it out, it'll keep growing and start destroying healthy brain tissue. At that point I'd be looking at seizures, memory and language loss, cognitive decline, personality changes – all the stuff that comes with permanent brain damage. Or so the neurologist tells me."

It all felt so surreal. "Can't you get a second opinion?" she demanded.

His mouth twitched. "I am. Seven o'clock tomorrow morning, when they open up my skull."

"Tomorrow morning." That was less than 12 hours away. Gillian clenched her jaw against the cold chill working its way up her spine.

This was all going much too fast for her. She knew it was typical for people going through a trauma to experience the sensation of time moving too quickly, and the associated feeling of helplessness and loss of control. Somehow that knowledge was no comfort right now.

It was so hard to believe that Cal, of all people… He was much more than just a colleague. They'd known each other for a long time, started a business together, seen each other through their respective divorces, and over the years they'd become firm friends. Best friends. Not so much in the social sense – although they did socialize together from time to time – but definitely in the sense of being there for one another. They protected each other, they supported each other, they kept each other on an even keel, and they always had each other's backs.

She knew that since her separation, his friendship and their work had become the anchor points of her life. And now he was facing one of the biggest crises of his own life – if not the biggest – and tomorrow literally everything could change. And it might never be the same again.

But they were here, the two of them, right now, and if the unthinkable happened this could be the one chance she would have to tell him…to tell him how much his steadfast presence in her life, his absolute, unshakeable faith in her both personally and professionally, meant to her. How much she truly did care about him, even though she'd never once expressed it aloud. She already had a sneaking suspicion as to how he would react, but she would hate herself if she didn't try anyway.

"Cal, I –"

"Don't," he cut her off, lifting his hands as if to ward away her words. "Just don't."

It was as she guessed. He didn't want any expressions of sympathy or eulogizing. Not even from her. Maybe especially not from her. "I'm here for you," she said, very quietly, as if speaking any louder might shatter the peace of this space where over time their two lives had become so intricately intertwined. "I want you to know that."

He gazed at her for a moment, and then the tension she could see in his face eased a little as he inclined his head in a slight nod.

It was all the thanks she needed.

----

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

The waiting was interminable. Gillian stared down at her watch for the umpteenth time. Seven twenty seven and forty two seconds. Exactly two minutes and thirty five seconds since she'd last looked at it.

Emily looked up from the book she was pretending to read and gave her a wan smile, and Gillian realized that she'd been absently drumming her fingers on the side of her purse. She was sitting with Emily and her mom in the waiting room outside the surgery unit of St. Luke's hospital, in a lumpy chair that couldn't have been more uncomfortable, watching the time crawl by. Waiting for news.

Ria had called five times to check in and Eli twice, but there had been nothing she could report except that he was still in surgery. After more than twelve hours, he was still in surgery. She tried to tell herself that was a good thing. It meant that the worst hadn't happened.

He wouldn't die. He wouldn't do that to her, she just knew he wouldn't.

She leaned forward, stretching her tired back, as the door to the surgery unit opened.

An exhausted-looking doctor in green scrubs and grubby foot covers padded into the room. The three women rose to their feet in unison, and doctor's gaze swept across their anxious faces. His stubbled face was professionally impassive, but the microexpressions that Gillian sought to find were there. Tiny creases at the corners of the eyes, a slight upward tilt of the chin. Unmistakable signs of pleasure and pride.

Gillian put a hand to her mouth to suppress a gasp of relief. The surgery had been successful. He had come through alright. A wave of giddy lightheadedness swept over her as several days worth of pent-up tension began to bleed from her body.

"Dr. Lightman is out of surgery and in the recovery room. We're moving him to the ICU now." Before they could chime in with the question that was on each of their lips, he continued, "We were able to remove the mass without appreciable damage to the surrounding brain tissue."

"So he's going to make a full recovery?" Zoë asked a millisecond before Gillian could.

The doctor hesitated, and the look of doubt that darkened his eyes filled Gillian with a sudden sense of foreboding.

"He's going to be ok, right?" Emily persisted.

"I'm afraid he's not out of the woods yet," the doctor replied slowly, as though he was having to physically drag the words out into the air. "You see, the tumor's progress was very aggressive – so much so that there's a chance that it was malignant."

"Malignant," Gillian echoed faintly, her feeling of foreboding transmuting into a leaden lump of dread. She felt like a drowning victim who has been rescued only to find out her lifeboat was about to sail into a hurricane.

"Yes."

Beside her Gillian heard Emily make a sharp noise of distress.

"How much of a chance?" Zoë asked in a practical tone as she reached out to pull her daughter reassuringly against her side.

The doctor pursed his lips. "It's too early to say. We'll need to do a biopsy and check for several cancer tumor markers."

"But I thought you said you'd removed the whole tumor," Gillian objected, clinging to rational thought with a determined effort as her stomach once again began to tie itself into knots. She'd wanted so much for this surgery to be a coda to the crisis, only to now discover that it might have been more of a prelude.

The surgeon turned mournful eyes to meet hers. "I'm sorry. If the tumor was malignant, then it will almost certainly have metastasized into other regions of the brain. And unfortunately it's not unusual for small pockets of cancerous cells to evade detection by an MRI or even a CT scan."

There was a heavy, somber silence as they tried to absorb this latest blow.

The doctor looked down at the expensive watch that decorated his wrist. "The anesthesia should be wearing off, so you can see him now – but only for a few minutes."

----

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

It took less than five minutes for the three women to make their way to the ICU, where the charge nurse at the desk informed them that Cal's room was all the way down at the end of the hall. Out of deference to Emily Gillian let the girl and her mother take the lead, but followed close behind.

A heavyset nurse with a stack of medical records pinned under one ample arm was just stepping out into the hallway as they reached his room. "Can I help you?" she inquired with an unfriendly, almost borderline suspicious expression on her face.

"We're here to see the patient – Cal Lightman," Zoë told her, her voice and expression matter-of-fact. "I'm his wife and this is his daughter."

Stretching the truth a bit, Gillian thought, but of course she would have said the same in Zoë's place.

The woman nodded at the pair. "Ok, you can go in, but he's right out of surgery and under heavy sedation, so just for a few minutes."

As Zoë and Emily slipped quietly into the room, the nurse turned her attention to Gillian.

"I'm with them. I'm Cal's – I'm a friend. A close friend," she added, so eager to go inside and yet managing to remember that what might seem obvious to her right now wasn't necessarily so to the rest of the world.

She reached for the door handle, but the nurse put out a beefy hand to stop her. The look on her face was forbidding. "I'm sorry – family only in the ICU."

"But –"

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry," she repeated firmly, sounding anything but.

Disappointment crushed her. He would want to see her, she was somehow sure, and for her part the need to re-connect with him was so intense that it eclipsed everything else in her heart and mind. For a moment she was consumed by a flare of hot resentment, unfamiliar and unwelcome, as she thought how unfair it was that Zoë, who after all was Cal's ex and therefore technically had no formal tie to him, was considered family while she – emotionally closer to him in so, so many ways – was left out in the cold. She knew her visceral reaction was petty and juvenile, and a byproduct of the day's relentless diet of tension and stress, but right now it simply didn't seem fair.

She retreated to the end of the hallway, unable to bring herself to leave the hospital and drag herself home to an empty apartment. Instead she pulled out her phone and dialed the office. As she anticipated Loker was still there, so she asked him to spread the news to Torres and the other associates. It was a difficult conversation to have with Eli, who had known Cal almost as long as she had, and she felt a tiredness that stopped just short of misery seeping into her bones as she disconnected the line with a sigh.

She was sliding the phone back into her purse when the door to Cal's room opened and Zoë and Emily emerged. She tried to read their expressions, registered a pervasive sense of sadness and exhaustion – as well as possibly a tiny hint of reassurance? Or was she imagining it from this distance away?

She stayed put as Zoë, with only a brief nod in Gillian's direction, passed her and left the ICU while Emily hung back to say something to the nurse. The older woman nodded, and Emily half-turned to flash Gillian a small smile over her shoulder before following her mother away towards the elevators and home for the night.

The nurse made a note in her chart, and then beckoned to Gillian. "Five minutes," she stated, crossing her arms as though Gillian might have the temerity to argue with her.

Shocked and thrilled she nodded quickly in agreement, wondering for a brief, grateful moment what Emily could possibly have said that had caused the woman to change her mind.

But the real focus of her attention was elsewhere. Suddenly inexplicably nervous, she took a deep breath to steady herself, twisted the door handle, and stepped inside the small, sterile room. Her eyes were drawn to the still figure on the bed like iron ore to a magnet.

He lay motionless under a blanket and sheet, his head covered in stark white bandages, his pale skin pasty in the harsh florescent light. Cal was such a kinetic, restless, energetic man. She ached to see him so still.

So still. Almost deathly still. Needing to touch him, needing to reassure herself that he was real, she reached out with fingers that trembled ever so slightly, and gently covered his hand with her own.

His eyes flickered open, searching, and then settled on hers. For an instant she thought she caught a brief glimpse in them of something that looked almost like relief. "Hey," he whispered groggily.

"Hey," she whispered back, unable to keep the blur of tears from her voice. She hadn't expected to feel so intensely relieved herself. Only now was she beginning to realize just how deeply she really did care for him, for this mercurial, impossible man who was always there for her while asking nothing for himself. She ducked her head so that he wouldn't see anything she wasn't yet ready to acknowledge.

His hand tightened on hers. She gripped his fingers gratefully, taking a few deep breaths to compose herself. When she was sure she was back in control she lifted her head and met his eyes, making a determined attempt to smile.

Despite the bandages and the lines of pain etched into his face, he managed to cock his head slightly to one side as he looked at her. His voice, when it came, was weak but steady. "How're you doin', luv?"

Gillian shook her head, her worry and concern receding and being supplanted by affectionate, bemused wonder. Here he was, just awakening after a whole day of brain surgery, and he was asking after _her_.

"I'm ok. I'm fine," she said, and meant it. She was fine, now that she was able to see him, to see for herself that he had made it through. Her fingers tightened lightly on his. "How are _you_?"

"Bit of a headache," he replied. "Nothin' to worry about."

Nothing to worry about. The upcoming rest and recovery period, the possibility of cancer, the fact that he'd just had a large hole cut into his skull – no, nothing at all. Still, at the moment she was inclined to agree. He had made it past the first hurdle. One worry at a time.

She could see his eyelids slide closed as he began to relax and drift off. Taking a small step back, she gently untangled his fingers from her own. "I'll see you in the morning," she promised, and watched with satisfaction as a contented smile stole over his sleepy face.

----

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Gillian was back at the hospital first thing the next morning, as soon as the ICU opened to visitors. This time the nurses didn't question her presence as she pushed the door to Cal's room open and quietly slipped inside.

Cal was asleep – the neurologist said he would likely sleep through most of the first couple of days. But she sat with him for nearly an hour anyway, until her sense of duty pulled her away to the office.

It went without saying that she would take care of things there while he was…away. Ill. Indisposed. Whatever euphemism one wanted to use. She knew he trusted her implicitly, the same way she trusted him. The Group was their shared investment, their child born of sweat and toil. They felt justifiably proud of what they had built together, and were almost as fiercely protective of it as they were of their own flesh and blood. Not to mention completely devoted to furthering its success. Yes, she would carry the load for him, however long it took, however many days or weeks or even months or years, just as she knew without question he would do the same for her.

----

When she returned that evening he was awake, his head swathed in fresh bandages. Beneath them both eyes were bloodshot and circled with dark bruises, like he'd just gone ten rounds with a pro boxer.

"Hey," she greeted him with a wide smile. It was so good to see him looking more alert.

"Hey," Cal replied, sounding a bit hoarse. "You're lookin' good. New suit?"

Having momentarily forgotten what she was wearing, she had to glance down at her crisp powder blue pantsuit. "Actually, yes."

"Suits you." He smirked at his awful pun, watching her with a look of clear appreciation in his tired eyes.

She wrinkled her nose at him. He was incorrigible. "You're looking –" she hesitated, trying to find a polite word and then abandoning the effort. He would know instantly that she was sugar-coating the truth. "You look awful."

His grin widened, then dissolved into a painful sounding cough. "Should see the other guy," he rasped.

"Want some water?"

He nodded.

She filled a plastic cup with cold liquid from a carafe on the bed stand and carefully held it to his lips.

He leaned forward and sipped greedily, then settled back with a grateful sigh. "Thanks."

"Any time. How are you feeling?"

"Bloody marvelous," he said with a heavily ironic inflection in his voice.

As he no doubt intended, it made her smile. "Well, you sound all right, at least. You don't have any more symptoms as far I can tell. And when I spoke to the neurologist this afternoon he said your latest CT scan was clear."

"Yeah. Brain function seems to be intact, so far. So that's good."

"No unusual…smells?" she asked as delicately as she could.

He shook his head with the ghost of a grin. "No. No violets, since that's what you're asking."

"Good." It was better than good. It was the most wonderful news she'd heard in a long, long time. And one thing was certain: never again would she take for granted the blessing of Cal's quicksilver presence in her life.

"Did they tell you the latest?" he asked.

"You mean that the tumor might be malignant?" She could barely get the word out. "Yes."

He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving down. "Yeah."

"Did they tell you when they'd know for sure?"

"Said it'd be about a week."

A week. A whole week to be spent an agonizing limbo of waiting, with a sword of Damocles almost literally hanging over his head. Her heart filled with commiseration as she imaged how helpless he must be feeling. Yet she knew as a psychologist, and as a friend, that there was nothing she could say right now that would make him feel better. No platitudes she could offer that would make everything ok.

No little white lies she could tell. Not to Cal.

The white lies, the social lies – the ones we tell to our friends and neighbors, to our spouses and parents and children. To ease the hurt. To keep the peace. The little white lies that smoothen the paths of relationships, that grease the wheels of society.

She could compile a whole list of them just off the top of her head:

_Oh, thank you so much, I just love fruitcake._

_No, that dress doesn't make you look fat._

_Of course I don't mind if your mother stays with us._

_You're much prettier than they are, sweetheart._

_I'm fine._

And that perennial favorite, _It's going to be all right._

She'd already tried that one and it hadn't worked on Emily, never mind her father. Cal was as immune to white lies as he was to all the others. He was the human lie detector.

She knew what it was like. After all, during her time with the Lightman Group she'd become nearly as good at detecting lies as her partner, even if she did say so herself. And it could be disappointing, depressing, sometimes distressingly so, to be aware beyond a shadow of a doubt that what she was hearing from a co-worker, a friend – a spouse – wasn't really the truth. To not have the luxury of just being able to believe someone when he assured you that everything was fine, that it was all going to turn out for the best.

Because sometimes telling lies was kind, those times when you told people what they wanted to hear, what they needed to hear. To keep them from doubting themselves. To give them courage and hope. Sometimes little white lies were all that made life bearable.

How could they possibly have a relationship when neither one of them could lie to the other?

Startled, Gillian frowned at herself. Where had that thought come from?

----

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Gillian arrived at the hospital the next day with an extra spring in her step. Emily had called her the night before to pass on the welcome news that Cal was out of the ICU and had been moved to regular room. That meant he was out of danger and on the road to recovery. At least for now.

She pushed open the door of his room to find him half-sitting up in a jumble of white sheets and blankets, his attention focused on the meager contents of a food tray that had been placed on the sliding table across his bed.

"Hey, Foster," he greeted her distractedly.

"Hey," she replied warmly. "Ah, what are you doing?"

"Havin' what they call breakfast," he muttered. He had wrestled open a container of vivid blue jello and maneuvered a small plastic spoon into the mixture, and was attempting to lift it towards his lips while simultaneously trying to avoid getting his IV tubes tangled in the bedclothes.

He got the first bite into his mouth, the second down the front of his gown.

Gillian watched him for a moment, then took pity. "Here," she said, sliding the spoon out of his hand. She perched on the side of the bed, dipped the spoon into the jello container and leaned in to offer him another bite.

To her surprise, instead of taking the spoon from her he sat forward and ate the morsel of jello right off of it. Then he sank back against the pillow, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Her lips twitched. She dipped the spoon into the container and held it towards him again, unable to believe she was indulging him like this.

"I can't believe I'm eating blue jello," he mumbled around his mouthful.

Her smile widened into an affectionate grin. "Neither can I." He had always been the first to disparage her own sweet tooth.

"You should try some," he offered. "Seriously. You'll like it."

She looked down at the half-empty cup, tempted. She would like it. Jello was a favorite of hers, along with Twinkies and Slushies. Then she shook her head. "No. Thanks, but this may be the most nutritious thing you eat all day."

"Bite your tongue." He made a face at her and she laughed, suddenly feeling absurdly fond of him and buoyed by a wave of joy and simple gratitude that he was alive, that he seemed to be very much his old self. That they were able to enjoy this time together.

She started to feed him another spoonful, pausing as the door behind them opened.

"Hello Cal," Zoë greeted, then stopped dead in her tracks, staring at the scene.

"Morning Zoë," Cal returned cheerily. "We were just havin' some jello."

Zoë, her mouth slack with astonishment, looked as though she'd swallowed a fly.

That's what she gets for always walking in on us unannounced, Gillian thought uncharitably. She couldn't suppress a frisson of pleasure at the naked jealousy she could read in the other woman's eyes. She lowered the spoon to her lap but didn't move from her position on the bed.

Just then Emily breezed in, sparing them further awkwardness.

"Hi Dad," she said brightly, and rounded the far side of the bed to press a kiss to her father's cheek. "Ew, you've got jello on your gown."

Gillian and Cal shared a private glance of amusement. "I know, luv," he replied, sounding almost meek.

"Not my fault," Gillian declared with a lighthearted smile as Emily stared in mock accusation at the spoon that was still in her hand.

Behind them Zoë cleared her throat, dispelling the playful atmosphere. "If you children don't mind –"

"How are you, Dad?" Emily interjected quickly, as though making a deliberate attempt to diffuse any tension threatening to build in the room. Not for the first time Gillian marveled at how accurately this 15 year old girl could detect and interpret the currents of emotion projected by the adults around her. In that way she was wholly unlike her father. Cal might be great at reading lies, but he was lousy at reading emotions.

"I'm good, luv," he reassured her, and Gillian thought he wasn't being totally untruthful. "Gettin' better and better. How was school yesterday?"

Gillian took the shift in the conversation as her cue to leave. Reaching out she touched Cal's shoulder for an instant, taking care to make it a friendly gesture, nothing more. "I'll see you tonight," she told him, and made her escape.

----

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Gillian was still at the office that evening when she received an unexpected phone call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, it's Emily."

Gillian's stomach did a little flip with fear even as her brain informed her that the teenager's cheery voice meant nothing was amiss.

"Hi Emily, how are you? How's your Dad?" she couldn't help adding anyway.

"He's good," came the reply. "I mean, you know, nothing else is wrong, if that's what you're asking."

Gillian expelled a breath. "Good."

There was a small hesitation on the other end of the line. "Um, my mom's gotta go to New York real early tomorrow morning, and she said it was ok if I called you and asked if I could get a ride with you to see Dad in the morning before school?" The meandering sentence ended on a hopeful, questioning note.

Gillian was already nodding into the phone. "Of course. I'd be glad to. I'll pick you up at – seven – is that ok?"

"That's great, Gillian!" Emily enthused. "I'll see you then. Thanks, bye!"

----

The drive from Zoë's condo to the hospital was short and uneventful, as Gillian with the help of Emily's cell phone apps help managed to avoid the worst of the traffic congestion spots. Gillian had always gotten along well with Cal's daughter, and she enjoyed the opportunity to spend a bit of time with this bright and cheerful girl who was quickly growing into a radiant, mature young woman. Having had a ringside seat she'd witnessed first hand how destructive Cal and Zoë's marriage ultimately became, but she would be the first to admit that together they had raised a truly wonderful child.

They were pulling into a narrow space in the hospital parking structure when Gillian's curiosity about something that had been in the back of her mind for days now finally got the better of her. "Emily, can I ask you a question?"

The teen glanced at her, reflexively wary but willing enough. "Sure. I think."

"The other day when we were here, after your Dad's surgery, you and your Mom saw your Dad in the ICU and afterwards you said something to the nurse about me. You remember?"

Emily nodded as she unbuckled her seat belt.

Gillian paused, undid her own seat belt, and then went on with a sidelong glance, "Do you mind if I ask what you said to her?"

Emily turned and hopped lithely out of the car, her voice floating back to Gillian. "I said she had to let you see Dad because you were the most important person in his life."

Gillian froze in place, her fingers clutching the door handle, completely at a loss for words.

----

TBC – Sorry this is so short, but another chapter will be coming soon!


	10. Chapter 10

The weekend passed uneventfully, Gillian dividing her time between the hospital and her latest cases, but following Monday morning began in the worst possible way – a fight with Alec. They had been going back and forth over the sale of their house, which was stipulated in the divorce settlement, until their disagreement over whether to sell now or wait for the economy to improve escalated into a full-blown argument. At that point, unable to behave like the adult he claimed to be, Alec had hung up on her. And to top it off an early meeting at Treasury meant she hadn't had the time to look in on Cal. Irritably Gillian turned off her cell and sought the relative sanctuary of her office.

She finally emerged long after lunchtime, and was about to turn down the hallway in search of food when she spied a light on in Lightman's office. Curious, she went to his door and looked inside.

Sitting at his desk, staring up at a video image on his wall screen and wearing a Washington Nationals baseball cap that only half-covered the bandages still swathing his skull, was Cal.

Gillian strode into the room, incredulous. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

With a click of his mouse he froze the video. "Hospital discharged me this morning. Thought I'd come in and get something useful done. Hello to you, too," he added.

But she wasn't in the mood for niceties. Instead her eyes were drawn to the stark white bandages peaking out from beneath his rather ridiculous looking cap. Just last week he had been in the ICU… "You should be at home," she scolded. "Resting."

He wrinkled his nose dismissively. "Got things to do."

"While I can," he added, and Gillian swallowed hard. His words were a sharp, vivid reminder that they didn't yet know about the cancer, if he was going to be ok.

She pushed the thought away, refusing to let the gnawing fear seep in. Changing the subject: "How did you get here? You didn't drive, did you?" He wasn't supposed to drive for at least two weeks yet.

He shot her a look as though to say his prize pupil was disappointing him. "I had Zoë drop me off."

She tried to suppress the little spark of hurt and betrayal his words ignited. He'd asked Zoë, when she would happily have done it herself – and after all, she worked here. Or didn't he want her to? Over these recent days she'd felt closer to him than ever before, and all her experience as a psychologist told her that the bond between them had deepened on both sides, not just her own. But was she just being selfishly myopic, only seeing what she wanted to see? She hoped, she desperately wanted to believe, that wasn't the case. "I would have – why didn't you let me know?"

She was certain that he noticed her reaction, but he chose not to call her on it. "I tried, but your cell went straight to messaging."

She closed her eyes briefly, annoyed with herself. "I turned it off." She sighed. "I had a fight this morning with Alec," she clarified in response to his querying look.

"Ah." The word was short, bitten off, his voice carefully neutral yet she could hear the underlying anger that vibrated through it. He had always been so protective of her when it came to Alec. In the past his interest in her private affairs had often exasperated and even annoyed her, but now she found herself unexpectedly touched as she felt his staunch, unwavering support like something vibrant and alive between them.

"We're getting rid of the house – it's the last part of the…of the divorce, and while I want to sell now he wants to wait. We ended up having a fight," she went on tiredly, "and instead of acting like a grown-up he hung up on me."

Cal's eyes darkened. "I'm sorry, luv. Divorce's difficult enough to make any of us act like children," he said, and she knew he was speaking from personal experience. "'Cept you, of course. But that doesn't give him the right to make the process any harder than it already is."

She smiled wanly. "In some ways he's just making it easier."

"Yeah," he agreed with a sympathetic quirk of his mouth, and she knew he was speaking from experience there as well.

But she the last thing she wanted to dwell on was Alec and the last bitter dregs of her divorce when it was infinitely more pleasurable to see that Cal was back on his feet and out of the hospital. Even though he should be at home recovering and not sitting here in the office.

"Anyway, you're just trying to distract me," she mock-accused him, attempting to lighten the mood.

His face was smug. "Worked, too."

She bit down on the answering smile that tried to sneak across her lips. "Yes, well, are you going to go home? Or am I going to have to call Emily?" she added threateningly, trying to look severe and serious but somehow not quite able to keep a straight face.

"All right," he replied, giving in with better grace than she anticipated, "just another half hour and I'll call it a day, deal?"

Gillian knew it was the best she was going to get. "Deal."

"Right, then." He stopped, hesitating, then shooting her a quick glance, "Uh, thought you might wanna know – we'll be gettin' the test results back tomorrow."

"Already?" A stab went through her of equal parts anticipation and fear. "I thought we weren't going to know for a few more days."

"I guess they pushed it through. High priority."

Was that a good sign or a bad one, she wondered.

"Anyway, I have an appointment with the oncologist first thing in the morning." He tilted his head and gazed at her sidelong. "Could use a ride," he noted, an unspoken question underlying his tone.

Gillian looked at him sharply. To her surprise his normally hooded eyes were fully open and met hers with a simple, unguarded expression of hope lurking within them. She could see without a shadow of a doubt that this wasn't any sort of game or a ploy, and that he wasn't just trying to make her feel better about this morning. Cal…he genuinely desired that she go with him.

Her heart gave a flutter and then leaped into her throat. The realization thrilled her, that however this came out, whatever the verdict the test results would give, it was she – not Zoë – whom he wanted with him when he got the news.

For a moment her vision blurred. She blinked hard to clear it, pressing her lips together. Having to taking several steadying breaths before the words would come. "Yes, of…of course, I'd be happy to."

He nodded, a rare, dazzling smile lighting his eyes. "Good. Give me a lift home today, too?" Now there was mischief in his face plain enough for the smallest child to see. He was clearly cognizant that he was pushing his luck, and in fact was doing so deliberately to tease her.

Knowing that he knew that she knew that he knew full well what he was up to, Gillian just laughed.

----

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

"The doctor will see you now."

They hadn't been sitting in the oncologist's waiting room for more than five minutes when a cheerful young nurses assistant motioned them through the door to the inner sanctum.

Gillian hesitated, looking at Cal for guidance. Did he want her to join him, or would he prefer that she stay in the waiting room? It was entirely his decision, and no matter how keenly she wanted to remain at his side, to be there for him as he faced whatever news awaited, she was determined to abide by his choice.

"Well, come on then," he said with an impatient sweep of his arm as he held the door open, like a shepherd collecting a wayward sheep that was straggling behind the flock. Relieved, she hurried to join him and together they followed the nurses assistant into the oncologist's dark, wood-paneled office.

A fifty-something woman in tortoiseshell glasses and a dark green pantsuit sat behind a desk piled high with papers and computer printouts. She stood with a welcoming smile as the two of them entered the room.

"Dr. Engel – this is Dr. Gillian Foster," Cal introduced. "My partner."

Gillian didn't have time to dwell on his choice of words as Dr. Engel briskly shook hands with her and motioned them into two chairs placed across from the desk. She sat down slowly, eager for the agonizing uncertainty of waiting to end yet at the same time dreading the possibility of hearing bad news. Her heart fluttered in her chest like a trapped bird. Days of waiting had finally come down to a simple pronouncement. Benign or malignant. Live or die.

For Gillian, the starkness of the two extremes was like the contrast between a tropical paradise and the barren surface of the moon.

She was only beginning to comprehend the horror of actually losing Cal, to appreciate the size of the gaping void it would leave in her life. She scanned the oncologist's face in a desperate search for reassurance, but the woman clearly had years of experience in the art of giving nothing away.

Dr. Engel cleared her throat. "Well, I'll come right to the point. As you know we ran a priority set of blood tests –"

"To test for the presence of tumor markers, yeah?" Cal interjected.

The oncologist's eyes fixed on his as she nodded. "That's correct. Specifically, the markers p53 and C19-9 that are typically found in malignant gliomas and other types of cancers…"

The words continued but for a moment all Gillian could focus on was Cal. He sat beside her, not sprawled bonelessly across the chair as was his usual wont but bolt upright, literally on the edge of his seat. His expression was guarded, impassive, his dark eyes giving nothing away. He was clearly putting on his bravest face, but beneath the cool, detached scientific demeanor she could see the hint of trepidation lurking in his eyes.

She wanted badly to reach out and take his hand, reassure him that she was with him no matter the outcome. Yet she could see that it might affect his delicately poised composure and forced herself to keep still, hands firmly pressed together in her lap, and turn her attention back to the doctor.

"And the test results clearly indicate that…"

Here it comes, Gillian thought, trying to brace herself, unconsciously holding her breath. Time seemed to slow – every second telescoping outward into infinity. She found she couldn't tear her eyes away from the doctor's face. Was that a fractional upturn at the edges of her lips? she wondered as her own heartbeat echoed in her ears. A tiny micro-expression of satisfaction? She thought it might be. But the band of tension in her chest was too taunt to yield to hope just yet.

_Please, please, please_, she silently begged to whomever might be listening, _let him be ok_.

"…benign."

Gillian felt the air rush out of her lungs in a whoosh of release. She closed her eyes, feeling lightheaded, almost dizzy, as a tsunami-sized wave of relief crashed over her.

"You'll need continue your follow-up with the neurologist," Dr. Engel continued, "but as far as I'm concerned you have a clean bill of health. And now if you'll excuse me I have another appointment," she finished, standing and coming around from behind her desk.

Cal propelled himself to his feet and reached out to engage her hand with a firm grip. "Thanks. Hope you don't mind my sayin' I hope not to ever see you again."

The doctor laughed. "I don't mind at all. You two take care now."

Gillian rose reflexively as Dr. Engel nodded to her and disappeared through the door. She was still reeling, readjusting to a world where sometimes one's greatest wish did come true, as Cal turned to her.

"Right then…" he said in a studiously casual voice. Obviously trying to shrug off the enormity of what had just happened, but she could see the world of relief shining in his eyes.

"Come here." She reached out and pulled him tight against her, making no attempt to hide her joy and the depths of her own relief, the exaltation sweeping through her with the rush of the blood through her veins.

Releasing a pent-up sigh he seemed to melt into her arms, and for a long moment they stood together in a close embrace, their bodies molding to one another. Just holding on to each other, breathing heavily, their racing hearts beginning to slow as the almost unbearable tension bled harmlessly away into the atmosphere surrounding them, lifting them upward like escaped balloons suddenly freed of the binding tether of the earth.

Finally, reluctantly, Gillian loosed her hold and took a step back, the momentarily bereft look on Cal's face telling her that he was just as loath to break the contact as she was. "Let's go tell Emily, hey?"

Cal nodded, his lips curling into a broad and, for once, unburdened smile.

----

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

They walked side by side through the labyrinth of near empty hallways that led out of the oncologist's suite at the hospital and away from the terrible dramas that played out within its walls. Putting this crisis behind them forever, Gillian fervently hoped. All at once she found herself acutely aware of Cal's presence beside her, of the measured pace of his ambling gait and the quiet rhythm of his breathing. She was as comfortable with him as she was in her own skin, and she wouldn't trade the easy compatibility they shared for anything else in the world.

Except, possibly, for one thing alone. One thing that until these past few days she had refused to acknowledge, to consider, to even conceive. Until circumstances had underscored to her that the opportunity – if there was one – might be lost forever.

That one thing was the possibility that more than a friendship might one day grow between them.

She was aware of how he looked at her, sometimes, when he thought no one would see. The flash of longing in his eyes. Not covetous, but rather a raw, soulful yearning. As if she was the one thing in all the world that could make him complete.

The thought of it was very flattering – ridiculously, dangerously flattering. In all the years she'd been with Alec, she could never remember him looking at her like that, not even once.

And if she had any doubt that she was reading the signs correctly, she only had to remember his daughter's innocent but oh-so-fully-charged comment the other day: _'You're the most important person in his life.' _And even before that,_ 'He's so much happier when he's with you.'_

Bless Emily's perceptive little heart.

Before, when she'd been married, she'd diligently devoted herself to ignoring those signs. Never admitted to herself that she knew precisely how he really felt about her. Never permitted herself to wonder if she might ever feel the same. That was why they had their boundaries, their rules of conduct. Their line in the sand – one on each side, no crossing over.

She liked having boundaries. Boundaries were good. Boundaries were safe.

And Cal always respected the boundaries.

But that was the problem with lines in the sand, she mused. They were only fixed, immoveable elements as long as the beach was dry. When the waters of life rose and started to nibble away at the edges, everything began to change.

Because now when he looked at her like that it stopped her heart.

If the last few days had revealed anything to her, they'd revealed that she cared far more deeply for Cal Lightman than she'd ever begun to imagine. He was arrogant, exasperating, childish and endearing. He trusted her implicitly, and knew her better than anyone alive. And that, even more than the magnetism of his dynamic personality that had attracted her from the very beginning, was finally impelling her to contemplate what she was contemplating now.

Because what if you were with someone who knew the absolute, unvarnished truth about you, who saw all your failings – all your faults and flaws – and loved you anyway? Someone who accepted you without hesitation or equivocation, who didn't want or need for you to be anyone but yourself. How rare, how impossibly, infinitely precious that would be.

Could Cal possibly be that person for her? Could she for him?

He liked to say that you could have either truth or happiness, but never both. Cold hard facts or rose-tinted glasses. Ne'er the two shall meet.

But she wasn't so sure. Cal knew her better than anyone else in the world – certainly better than Alec ever had – and yet he still looked at her as though she was the solitary ingredient that was missing from his life. It gave her a shred of hope that he was wrong, that he only felt that way because he'd never foreseen the possibility of actually having both at once. After all, it might be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

A once in a lifetime opportunity – would she ever be able to forgive herself if it came along and she passed it up?

No, Gillian decided as the delicate seed of hope began to take root in her heart, she wouldn't.

She took a deep, deliberate breath, and then lifted her arm from her side and took Cal's hand, lacing her fingers through his.

He stopped short, gazing down at their entwined digits like he'd never seen appendages before. The look of dazed astonishment that flooded over his face was palpable, almost comical, as he processed the meaning of this subtle, gentle joining of their hands – a small and simple act, yet quietly profound.

Biting his lip, he squeezed her fingers and then drew one arm across her shoulders, pulling her in tight against his side. Shooting her a sidelong glance suffused with tender, shy gladness, for a moment reminding her so much of a bashful teenager out with his prom date that she had to stifle a grin.

It was time to find out if they could have both truth and happiness – and that was no lie.

FIN

----

Author's Note: Thank you all for taking this journey with me, and especially to those of you who were kind enough to leave reviews!

3


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